


Who's Keeping Who

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Samson's bossy, moderately public sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6928975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cullen and Samson unwind after a meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Keeping Who

“I think it would be best if we send those troops to Sarhnia, Ser,” the Lieutenant’s voice was crisp and clear, like a bell that cut through the warm air of Cullen’s office. It was easy to hear her, but Cullen’s eyes were slow to lift from where he was looking down at the desk and the map that covered it. **  
**

One hand was clenched in a fist, and it was clear his jaw was set as he tried to pay attention to what his lieutenants and company leaders told him. It was important, but Cullen couldn’t concentrate. His headaches were well known around those that spoke with him often, and that’s what this reaction would be. Cullen waved a hand, mumbled something in agreement, and hitched a breath as he looked up at the group gathered near him, “I trust your judgements,” Cullen told them all in a soft voice, “send the troops we need out there and make sure supplies are kept up to those already out there. We’ll do as the- ah, Maker’s breath…” Cullen’s voice trailed off and he clenched his hand again.

“Commander?”

“We’ll do as the Inquisitor wants with Sarhnia,” he went on, this time voice shaking, “write down your plans and I’ll look over them in the morning.” Cullen was done, now, with real work. He couldn’t do any more. Another hitched breath, and he leaned forward over the desk, “Leave me,” he instructed, “I’ll sign off on everything tomorrow.”

Salutes. Chatter. Scraping of chairs. Cullen knew it was happening but his head was resting on his hand. Little breaths left his lips, soft pants, and he grunted a little as he strived to keep himself under control while everyone cleared the room. He was sweating under his armor, hands shaking, and Cullen clenched his teeth for those long, interminable moments until the door closed over and he was left at his desk.

The moment the door was closed Cullen practically collapsed in his chair, and he groaned long and loud. One hand moved, lowered to his thigh, and moved to tangle in the brown waves that fell across his lap. He leaned up on his toes, pitched the chair back, and as he did so he felt the man kneeling between his thighs pushing him backward as well. Dark eyes looked up to meet honey brown ones, and Cullen let out a little shuddering sigh as Samson pulled his mouth of Cullen’s cock with a _pop_ and ran his tongue along the length of the underside.

“You’re blushing, Rutherford,” Samson teased from where he was still sitting on his knees. Thin lips wrapped around the head of Cullen’s cock again, and the man _sucked_ until Cullen threw his head back and whined. “They’ll think you have a fever again,” he went on, “that Nightingale woman will have the healers in.”

“N-not, mm, if I say I’m alright,” Cullen stammered. Samson had been under his desk since the meeting had started, had been slowly sucking him and teasing him until he thought he might burst, and Cullen’s blood was so, so hot. It felt like a fever, and every lick from the man’s tongue or brush from his rough fingers made Cullen shudder with a more and more pressing need. “Sam,” he breathed, “ _please_.”

Samson grinned, “Please what?” he teased, “please suck you til you come, Commander?”

That made Cullen groan again, and he couldn’t help the way the muscles in his legs tightened as Samson ran the flat of his tongue along the underside of Cullen’s cock again and swirled it over the tip. He pushed the chair back a bit more, and flailed his arms out as he almost overbalanced, but Samson’s hands on the legs kept him from tipping backward. “Raleigh, please,” he begged, and tangled one hand back in Samson’s hair, “Maker, I’ll go mad if you don’t.”

It was always _Raleigh_ when Cullen was desperate.

“And who said you got to come, hm?” Samson asked as he pushed the chair backward so it scraped along the floor. When he had enough room, he stood up and smiled down at the sight of Cullen. Beautiful, blushing Cullen with the sweaty brow and his britches pulled low around his thighs so his cock rubbed up against the hem of his shirt and the edge of the breastplate he still wore. The man had to look presentable for his meeting, after all, and no one would know that he was having his cock sucked under that behemoth of a desk.

One hand lowered, and Samson lifted Cullen to his feet by putting a hand under his chin and guiding him upward. Cullen moved pliantly enough, shook on his feet a little as his full weight hit his legs. Like that, his cock jutted out proudly from his belly, still wet from Samson’s mouth and the beading of liquid at its tip, and Samson licked his lips hungrily. He could have sucked Cullen until the man was mad for it, but…why bother now? They were alone. They were alone for the night.

“Upstairs,” Samson instructed, and nodded toward the ladder that led up to Cullen’s room. It would be tricky, a bit, but they’d manage. Even Cullen with his pants around his thighs would manage. They always managed.

In Cullen’s room they made short work of getting out of clothes and armor. Templar training was good for that, and everything was folded and put away without a second thought before Samson pushed Cullen back down on the bed. His legs hung over the side, and he sat up on his elbows and watched as the other man practically strolled over. Samson’s cock was hard, hanging heavy between his legs as he watched Cullen watching him. He wasn’t blushing, not really, but watching Cullen’s face go scarlet like it was made his blood heat until he could feel it coming off his own skin in waves. Cullen blushed from the tops of his ears to his chest, and they just locked eyes and stared at each other for a long moment.

Then he was on his knees again, Cullen’s legs hitched over his shoulder, and sucking Cullen’s cock like the man paid him to do it. On the bed, Cullen squirmed and moaned, hips canting in circles to practically chase Samson’s tongue around his mouth. It was so perfectly warm and wet and maddening, and one hand lifted from where he’d fisted it in the sheets to clamp over his mouth to keep from crying out any louder. Too many years of having to be quiet had trained Cullen well, and he panted and squeaked behind his hand as his head fell backward again. He was so hard, harder than he’d been when Samson sucked him under the desk, but even with that talented mouth around him he knew he wouldn’t come.

Not yet.

Slowly, Samson rose from where he was on the floor and he kissed his way up Cullen’s body until he was leaning over him. Under him, Cullen was panting behind his hand still and the heat that came off of him rivaled any fire Samson had ever felt. Pressed together as they were, Samson felt Cullen’s heartbeat like it was his own, and it thudded fast and heavy against his chest. That was a good feeling. It beat like the lyrium had beat inside his chest, that second heartbeat, but this was infinitely sweeter. It beat like life and warmth where the lyrium had been like a creeping fever and Blight.

He bent his head, nosed Cullen’s hand away from his mouth and kissed him. He kissed him deeply, soundly, and Cullen wound his arms around Samson’s waist as he leaned up and kissed him back. Cullen tasted like ale, like frost on the air, and it was so cleansing and refreshing. Everything about Cullen felt like it was healing. Samson wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , say it, but he came away from every moment spent with the man feeling like his body, soul, and mind had been healed a little. Maker help him if Cullen ever knew it, but he kissed Cullen with the feelings instead of the word. He _needed_ him. They _needed_ each other.

When the kiss broke, a moment filled with nothing but their breathing, Samson looked down and smiled. It was something warm, a private kind of smile that was reserved for Cullen and Cullen alone, and it was returned with a matching one from Cullen’s scarred lips. Maker help him, but Samson did love that smile. It was a reward he hadn’t known he’d needed, one he hadn’t realized he’d missed, and now that he had it in this place…he liked to have it as often as he could get it. Cullen’s face was still pink, but slack and reverent. It was a beautiful sight.

“Raleigh.”

Samson smiled again, ducked his head as he scraped his lips along Cullen’s scruffy chin and down to his throat. Lips, tongue, and teeth meandered along warm skin to find all the places that made Cullen laugh and squirm, and Samson bit sharply at Cullen’s pulse. The man hissed, gripped hard at Samson’s hip, and nuzzled at his hair. That made Samson chuckle too, and he swirled his tongue over the red mark he’d left with his teeth, “I should send you to the War Council covered in marks, you know,” he teased, “let them know who’s keeping who.”

Cullen whined, bucked his hips up so their cocks rubbed together, and tipped his head back to bare more of his throat, “Let them see,” he answered, “they know only the Maker can judge me, anyway.”

“Pious brat.”

“You love it.”

The earned Cullen another sharp bite, one hard enough to make him jump and claw at Samson’s back. He would be covered in marks. He already was: scratches and bruises in the shape of fingers where Samson dug them in so Cullen could feel it. Cullen loved the bite of pain in tandem with the pleasure he felt, lived for the spike of adrenaline it caused, and Samson lived to give it to him. It was never out of anger or disgust, but only to make it better for them both.

Samson kissed and bit his way down Cullen’s chest and stomach, stopped to tease Cullen’s nipple with his tongue first before he wrapped his lips around it and sucked it until it pebbled against his lips. That was one of Cullen’s guilty pleasures. Often he’d grumble before he groaned, tried to pretend he didn’t like it, but arched his back into it. He did that now, arched his back against Samson’s mouth, and turned his face so his cheek pressed against the mattress, “Maker take me,” he groaned, “ _please_.”

“Not gonna be the Maker that’s taking you, Cullen,” Samson pointed out once he pulled his mouth away, “just me.”

He made his way lower, settled himself between Cullen’s legs, and carefully hitched them back over his shoulders. Much to Cullen’s annoyance, however, his mouth didn’t stop at his cock like it had done before. Samson kissed and sucked at the joins of Cullen’s thighs, lapped at the thin and sensitive skin there until it purpled, and pressed his hands flat to the backs of Cullen’s thighs. Samson delighted in the taste there, the masculine mixture of Cullen’s skin and the arousal so close to his mouth, before he pushed Cullen’s legs up so his knees were in the air and his feet dangled over Samson’s shoulders.

“Hold your legs,” Samson growled as he looked up, and Cullen’s hands shakily let go of the sheets to cover his own that still pressed against his thighs. Their fingers twined together as best they could. It was a nice connection. Samson grinned, licked his lips, and winked down at Cullen. That made Cullen chuckle, and he leaned back against a pillow as Samson stretched out on his stomach before him.

A moment later saw Samson’s tongue tracing patterns along that patch of skin just behind Cullen’s balls. He licked, both lightly and more firmly, until Cullen squirmed and bucked his hips down against Samson’s mouth. Samson knew he wanted it, wanted his mouth there, and he ducked his head to run his tongue across Cullen’s entrance. Cullen sputtered, gripped harder both at Samson’s fingers and his own thighs to hike his legs higher, and groaned, “ _Yes_.”

Slowly, so slowly, Samson ran his tongue over and around Cullen’s entrance until he relaxed enough to push it inside. Cullen was moaning, low and heavy and high and needy, and bucked his hips down onto Samson’s tongue. This was his other guilty pleasure. The man had all but shut down when Samson had suggested it the first time, all those years ago in Kirkwall, but now Cullen couldn’t get enough. He rarely begged for it with his words, but his body responded so beautifully that Samson knew it. Cullen had called it ‘obscene’ once upon a time, had dismissed it until Samson had teased him with it, and now he practically fucked himself on the man’s tongue.

Nonsense fell from Cullen’s scarred mouth, but Samson could hear his own name and the Maker’s in the same breaths. He pressed his tongue in and out for a long while, teased Cullen as he squirmed, then pulled one hand down to start pushing his fingers inside as well. That changed everything, made Cullen even more animated, and he writhed as Samson’s fingers thrust into him. One, then two, then three, and Cullen couldn’t keep still. He begged: “Raleigh, please. Please.”

“Please what?”

Cullen whimpered, arched his back again as Samson’s fingers found that spot inside him that made him see sparks behind his eyes, and let go of one leg to tangle that hand in his own hair. Samson teased that spot, made Cullen swear a pretty line of filth that no other person would ever hear, and just grinned as Cullen spoke again. “Fuck me,” he begged, “I want…I _need_ you.”

So Samson did. He grabbed a vial of oil from the bedside table, slicked his cock, and pushed it inside Cullen in one smooth thrust. He held Cullen’s ankles and fucked him just like he was, so they were face to face, and he could see every pulse of pleasure across those handsome features. Samson fucked him hard, reveled in the slap of skin against skin as his cock moved in and out and Cullen’s voice rose to fill the room and spill out of the hole in his roof. The men on the ramparts would hear him, hear him crying out and begging for more, and even more than the bites on his neck the sound of him would prove that uptight Commander Cullen Rutherford needed a good fucking.

Cullen’s own hand moved on his cock, stroked himself in time to Samson’s thrusts, and begged both samson and the Maker for his release. When he came, he arched his back and spilled over his hand and onto his stomach with a shout. Cullen clenched his body around Samson’s cock until it was so deliciously tight that he couldn’t fight it anymore. Samson came inside him, spilled deeply where he was nudged up against Cullen’s prostate, and ground himself down until Cullen whimpered and wrapped his legs around Samson’s waist. He’d be walking with a bit of a limp in the morning, Samson knew, and he’d be feeling Samson’s cock up his ass for days.

Well. Until they did this again, anyway.

They fell back into bed together not long after. Samson had cleaned them off, wrapped them up in blankets, and wound his arms around Cullen’s waist to keep him close. They were tangled together. Under those furs and blankets, remnants of Cullen’s lyrium withdrawal and constant chill, it would be difficult to tell where Cullen ended and Samson began. Forever entwined, were they. Always. They always had been. Always would be.

And Samson would make sure Cullen came first every single time. Forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr! @sallyamongpoison
> 
> Also, this was written based on some art pieces done by @oldstupidtemplar on tumblr! Go check out their lovely work!


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